


Battleplans

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Dirty Talk, Hate Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Power Dynamics, Repression, Role Reversal, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Topping from the Bottom, and robb is a secret shame-filled bottom, in which jaime is a shameless bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 19:09:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17209262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: "I'm not ashamed of myself, you see, and you hate that you can't be the same."Robb tries to take his issues out on the Kingslayer, and it backfires on him.





	Battleplans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ofwickedlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofwickedlight/gifts).



> Inspired by a long, fierce and productive debate I had with ofwickedlight over on the asoiaf rarepairs discord, which resulted in something of a compromise measure.
> 
> ...She knows what I'm on about.

There are times where Robb simply takes a step back, takes a look at his life and how it has played over the past few years, and he cannot believe he is the one living it.

This is one of those times, with the Kingslayer hidden in his tent in the dark of night, his body splayed across Robb's desk and staining the plans for tomorrow's movements. Robb groans and then bites his lip to conceal the noise, his pale fingers grasping Lannister's golden thigh as he thrusts and shudders against the other man. The chains are gone, Robb doesn't have it in him to take a prisoner in chains. But the angry red marks around his wrists remain.

It's not as if Ser Jaime doesn't look like he's enjoying it, Robb thinks as the man moans obscenely, whorishly into his ear. He's not sure if that makes it better or worse. He's not doing this to pleasure the Lannister, of course not, he meant to do this for vengeance, justice, for – for Father's memory. _Father would never take advantage of a prisoner like this,_ Robb thinks, and tastes something sick at the back of his throat. But he doesn't really think he's hurting Ser Jaime either. And that's good. He doesn't have it in him to want to hurt a man by fucking him.

So what _is_ he doing?

For the most part, he's just thrusting, base and animal and more wolfish than he's ever felt before, really. If his men, the ones who gave him that name, knew he's sure it would destroy everything they think about him, but that's a problem for another day. His thrusts are rough and clumsy, inexperienced, but Ser Jaime does not complain. Which is remarkable, since he seems to be a man with no shortage of complaints toward most things. This must be the longest he's been quiet since he was captured.

Lannister groans, his golden mane a tangled mess as he writhes against the wood. Robb would have expected him to be more proud. He never expected the man to _consent_. Fingers grasp his shoulder through his leathers, and dig in just as fiercely. Robb winces. Despite the months rotting away, Ser Jaime is still _strong._ Stronger than him. He could get away if he wanted. “Gods,” he announces with a breathless laugh. “You do have a lot to work out, don't you?”

Robb frowns, not pausing in his thrusting, ignoring the spark up his spine at those words. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Of course not,” Ser Jaime snorts, his legs only spreading wider to invite Robb in deeper. Robb feels somewhat like he's being lured into a trap, and yet he takes the invitation, groaning at the tight heat that envelops him. It's good, and yet it still feels like something's missing. “You Starks, I'm sure your lord father never taught you fucking was good for anything but making more little wolf cubs. Am I right?”

Robb groans, out of frustration rather than pleasure. Ser Jaime's words embarrass him, and he turns red beneath the beard he still thinks looks patchy and not-fully-grown. “I'm not a child,” he spits.

“Oh, I know _that_ ,” Ser Jaime cooes, which only makes Robb redder. He pounds inside the other man harder, and gets another filthy moan while the lion's body arches up toward him, but Lannister does not show a single drop of shame about it. Robb boggles. “But still, you don't know why I'm letting you do this, do you?” And Lannister has him there. Robb doesn't have a clue. “You have no idea–” He interrupts his words with another moan, loud and _deliberate,_ “–no idea how good I feel, do you?”

Fuck. What is he meant to say to that? “Good for you,” Robb mutters dismissively, trying _desperately_ to ignore what Lannister is telling him and quickening the pace, hoping to fuck the man hard enough he'll just _shut up_.

Ser Jaime, despite the high-pitched noises of pleasure he makes at Robb's rougher thrusts, laughs throughout them. “Oh, does that scare you, does it?” He tightens his legs around Robb's waist, forces him in deeper, and Robb has to bite his lip not to whimper. “It shouldn't. It can be _so nice_ , having someone stronger and fiercer than you pin you down, take you, use you... hold you, protect you...” he trails off with another moan, gentler this time, but it makes Robb's prick pulse just as hard. “Oh, you'd love it Stark.”

A lump jumps up in his throat. He buries himself hard in one sure thrust. “You have no idea what you're talking about, Lannister,” he says, but even he can hear the panic in his voice.

“Don't I?” Ser Jaime asks. “You've met my dear sister, after all. How do you think she always treated me?” And Robb groans loudly, suddenly remembering what a pervert the man he's lying with truly is, the man who almost _murdered_ his brother to conceal his secret. None of that alleviates his ever-worsening guilt. And Lannister just fucking _laughs_ again. “You don't fool me, boy. You _hate_ the way these people look at you. The Young Wolf, the King in the North, the one who's going to save their realm from the centuries of southern subjugation. Meanwhile, you're just a _child_.” And Robb groans louder, his cock twitching at that as well, and that only turns him redder. Lannister sees right through him, and it's horrifying. It's horrifying, but also... arousing. “You just wish your daddy was here to take care of you, but if he isn't, you'll have to find something, won't you?”

Robb closes his eyes and shakes his head, but he can't deny it, not really. “Just shut your month,” Robb says, trying to sound like a king, because this man is his prisoner, Robb _owns_ him, at least for the time being, but it does not work. Robb sounds like a child.

“I could, but that will not help,” Ser Jaime tells him, and Robb shudders when the man's fingers trail around his waist and grab his arse, squeezing hard. _Oh gods._ “Face it lad, you're getting desperate,” Lannister whispers, his cock lying red and hard on his own belly, and Robb can't help staring at it for a moment. “You can fuck me as hard as you like, but it's not what you _want_.” And when Lannister's fingers tease his bare skin, Robb can just imagine someone else, _anyone_ else. “I'm not ashamed of myself, you see, and you hate that you can't be the same. You wish you could just bend over and let someone own you. If one of your damn bannermen just offered, you'd spread your legs in a heartbeat–” _No, never_ , Robb shakes his head again and tries to insist, but that can't stop him _thinking_ about it, “but it doesn't matter, because they never will. They don't know you like I do, Stark.”

Robb cries out as he comes without warning, and in the moment he can practically feel it, the hands grabbing him, on top of him, inside him, everything he should never want and can never had, and he comes harder than he ever has in his life.

Once the pleasure passes Robb's sickness worsens, realising just how much he gave away to such an enemy. He has to pull himself out before he vomits onto Lannister's perfect, golden skin, and he abruptly tries to get his breeches on from the floor, to cover himself up and look respectable, to pretend this never happened.

Meanwhile, Ser Jaime gives a disappointed whine. “What, are you just going to leave me here, Your Grace?” He's still breathless, and when Robb chances a look at him, he sees that cock still obscenely red and hard against his belly, and it makes Robb want to suck it. _Gods be good._ “No concern for my pleasure once you've had your own? Hmm. Most ungentlemanly of you.”

Robb averts his eyes again. He knows Lannister is right, but it's not the same. Ser Jaime isn't his lover, he's... well, what is he, exactly? “Do what you like, Kingslayer,” he mutters, tying his breeches around his waist defensively. “You can come if you want to, but I'm not going to touch you again.”

Because he can't. If he lets himself touch the man again, he knows Ser Jaime will learn even more of him than he does already.

A small huff, and then Robb has to close his eyes as he hears the wet sound of Lannister's hand sheathing his own cock, the obscene moans and groans that fill his tent. Robb is left to wonder how hard he'd come if he was the one fucked hard and then left to wank himself off while spread over the furniture.

Ser Jaime spends with a quiet gasp, and when Robb peaks at him once more, he sees the seed spread wet and thick across his thighs. Robb wants to drop to his knees and lick it up.

Then he knows the lion truly has bested him.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Through Hushed Fangs, Grinning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17850518) by [ofwickedlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofwickedlight/pseuds/ofwickedlight)




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